


A Queen Among Wolves

by The_Renegade



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Crown, Dragons, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/F, F/M, Fights, Fist Fights, Games of Thrones, How Do I Tag, Love, Multi, Post-War, Queen - Freeform, Thrones, War, Winter, helps, i mean guys its GOT theres war, karstark, yo guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Renegade/pseuds/The_Renegade
Summary: Ahrella Karstark, the eldest daughter of the Karstarks, has never been one for love or marriage or politics. Honestly, for her, the entire thing has always felt like a bore. But when she and her younger cousin, Sansa, are sent to King's Landing to meet the future King, everything changes for her. Her world is opened wide. The Sun of Winter finds herself trapped in the game of thrones.





	1. Chapter 1

Ahrella stood on the castle bridge, looking outwards over the southern ocean, the warm winds tumbling through her raven black waves of hair which cascaded down the back of her thin, lilac coloured dress, which was trimmed with silver flowers. She would never quite get used to just how big the ocean was. So vast, and wide, and blue. Blue like her mother's eyes, and just as infinitely deep. It had been over a week since she had seen her mother, or any of her direct family, for that matter. A week since she had arrived at King's Landing. A week since she had been forced to flirt with the King-to-Be and see if he would take a liking to her.

The mere thought put a foul taste in her mouth. Ahrella Karstark had never seen herself as someone who was easily manipulated, bent, with the twist of a knife in her back, or made to perform her duties for the family. Yet, here she was, sent along with her cousin Sansa Stark, and Ayra, her younger sister, and their father, Uncle Eddard. 

And it wasn't so much that Joffrey Baratheon wasn't an incredibly attractive royal, that was undeniable. But it was the lack of caring, the harshness that he held while he walked, that made Ahrella want nothing to do with him. He was most likely to wed Sansa afterall, she was the true Stark, the one who could bring him the North. Ahrella, while rather pretty, and more mature than Sansa, being a few years older and ready for childbearing, was only a Karstark. And while wealthy, and the eldest daughter, nothing could compare to a Stark. 

Looking out at the ocean beyond her was all that really kept Ahrella calm at this moment. So calm she almost did not hear the footsteps behind her. 

"You don't have anything quite like this up north, do you?" The snarky voice of Joffrey himself sent shivers down her spine. "Rather...interesting that I find you up here alone, m'lady." 

"My Lord," Ahrella turned towards the blonde haired, blue eyed boy in his usual crimson and gold attire, and curtsied deep, the wind whipping at her skirts as she did so. 

"My my, was that a hint of ankle I caught there?" Joffrey teased, smirking at her with his uncomfortably perfect lips. 

"My apologies, m'Lord, the wind caught at my skirts," Ahrella bowed her head in embarrassment, her snow white cheeks blushing scarlet. "What brings here up here alone this afternoon?" she asked, trying to keep up pleasantries. She plastered a soft smile to her lips. "It's not often I find you unescorted, whether by your guards, or the throng of women following you around attempting to win your hand." It was dangerous for one to challenge the prince as Ahrella did with her words, but the way she said it only intrigued Joffrey. It wasn't often a lady was this bold. 

"Your cousin included?" He asked, standing at the edge of the bridge beside her. 

Ahrella almost laughed, covering up her lips out of modesty. "Oh yes, my cousin Sansa is definitely included." She fought to not roll her eyes. Her cousin was still so doe eyed over young men. She had just reached that age, where every boy looked like a god. 

"And yet," Joffrey said, turning towards the raven haired lady, brushing a strand of her long curls behind her delicate ears, "You don't ever seem to be a part of that group. Can you tell me, why is that?" 

Ahrella knew now she was treading down a dangerous path. With Joffrey's hand still near the side of her head, she turned her cheek softly, pressing it into his palm, letting him feel the softness of her pale cheek. She could hear the breath catch in his throat and knew in that moment she was in the clear. 

"Do you not like a good chase?" Ahrella asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. 

"A hunt is always good," Joffrey smirked, "But it would be a shame if the catch got away." He trailed his hand down her face until it rested lightly on her side. "What if I were to wed you instead of that ginger haired younger cousin of yours? Would you like that?" 

"It would be an honour, of course, my Lord," Ahrella said, acutely aware of where his hand lay and the warmth which seeped out of it. "If you were so inclined. But why take a Karstark over a Stark?" 

Joffrey leaned closer to her, his lips right beside her ear. "When the Karstark is far prettier than the Stark, it's not that difficult of a decision." And then she felt his lips press softly against her pale throat before he stood back up. "But of course, I could always just bed you both," he said suggestively, grinning that cheeky grin of his. 

"I feel as though the kingdom would not appreciate that nearly as much as you would," Ahrella quipped back, earning a larger smile from the prince. 

"Fair enough, fair enough. There is still much to be considered, and much to convince my mother of." Joffrey said, still studying her face. "But how about you give me a small taste of what I might have?" 

"M-my Lord?" She stuttered, her cheeks flaring red. 

"Nothing that sinful, Lady Ahrella," Joffrey whispered, tipping her chin up towards him. "Just a small kiss, is all." And before she could find a clever way to object, Joffrey pressed his lips against hers fiercely, as if he were hungry for touch. Ahrella wished she were anywhere but here.

She opened her eyes as he kissed her and saw a familiar figure who caused her heart to leap. With his finely trimmed beard and salt and pepper hair, Petyr Baelish stood watching the interaction, his usual smirk replaced with a glower. They locked eyes, before he turned on his heel, and disappeared from where he had come.


	2. Chapter 2

After blushing and making excuses as to why she had to hurry off, Ahrella sped off in the direction which Petyr had left. Petyr Baelish and his cocky, know-it-all attitude infuriated her beyond belief. That and the alleged rumours of his undying love for her aunt, who was very, very happily married. He infuriated her with that wry smile and that annoying teasing tone in which he spoke to her. He made her want to scream. And that scowl which he had given her when he saw her allowing the future King to kiss her, allowing this small act as a moment to take favour, to avoid trouble, made her want to scream even more. 

"Lord Baelish!" She said loudly when she finally saw his disappearing figure moving deeper into the depths of the castle. When he heard her voice, it was almost as if he picked up pace, moving down the spiraling stairs two at a time. "Lord Baelish, stop!" She cried out again, picking up her long skirts and stepping down the descending stairs as quickly as she could. 

Suddenly, her toe caught on the lip of the stairs, and she tumbled, black curls flying, purple skirts whipping about. Her hands and shins and god knows what else banged against the stone as she tumbled down the dimly lit stairwell, refusing to let out even the smallest cry, lest someone come looking for her, worst of all, that someone being Joffrey. She felt the stone sharply bite her in several places yet made no sound. She tumbled foot over head for about seven steps before gentle hands grabbed her by the waist and cupped her head gently, lest she strike the pale, soft flesh against the harsh stone. 

Ahrella opened her eyes to find the man she had been following after. Littlefinger himself stared down at her, wide eyed, lips parted ever so slightly. "M'lady, are you alright?" He asked when he saw her ice blue eyes peek open. "You had quite a fall there." 

"I-I," Ahrella stuttered at first before narrowing her eyes. "If you hadn't insisted on running away from me, I wouldn't have fallen down the stairs, now would I?" She looked down, assessing the damage. Her left ankle appeared slightly red and swollen, and she winced simply looking at it. 

"I don't know what you mean, Lady Ahrella. I was simply hurrying to get to the joust for the new Hand of the King, your uncle I believe." He brushed her hair back, examining a small scrape on her forehead. "I heard you fall and came rushing back to your rescue."

"My rescue indeed," Ahrella rolled her eyes, removing herself from his grasp. She used the wall to raise herself back up, and he studied her, as she attempted to put weight on her left foot, and inhaled sharply. 

"It appears you may have a sprain, M'Lady," he said, almost grinning, which only frustrated Lady Karstark further. "Please, let me help you down the stairs." He held out his sleeved arm for her to grasp, and reluctantly, she did so. He pulled her up and , for a moment, there was only an inch of space between them. Then, Petyr began making his way down the stairs, helping her slowly down the stairs. 

"Would you like to return to your chambers, M'Lady? Or are you at all interested in accompanying me to the joust?" Petyr asked her boldly, eyeing her with a sideways glance. 

"What?" Ahrella asked, stopping in her tracks. "You want me? To go with you? To the joust?" Her thoughts immediately fled to Joffrey and the look of anger which would scream across his face, the rath he could take out on Petyr. And while he annoyed her, he did not deserve that. No one deserved that. She clasped onto his sleeve, hoping her thoughts displayed in her eyes as they locked glances. 

"Of course. Who wouldn't want to be accompanied by the most beautiful Northener in town?" he mused. "Only a fool, to be certain." 

"Joffrey will..." Ahrella began, but Petyr put on finger to her delicate lips. 

"Shh, M'Lady, I am not concerned about the desires of a future king. He is not king yet, and no threat to me. And it's not exactly as if I were publicly courting you, or kissing you in the middle of a bridge in front of the sea. I'm simply asking you to come with me to the joust." Petyr said, tearing his gaze from hers. There was something about those blue eyes of hers. No wonder the young prince was so intrigued. 

Ahrella thought for a moment, before sighing. "Fine. We might as well, let's make a good show of it."

"I was hoping you would say that," Petyr said with a grin, knowing full well he had won.


	3. Chapter 3

Ahrella could hear the loud cheers and shouting, and hoof beats, and clashing of metal, smell the sweat, long before they reached the stands where the jousts were being held. It hit her like a wave. She clutched onto Petyr's arm tightly, ignoring the grin that slid across his lips. When they approached the stands, Sansa and Arya were notably not sitting next to the prince. Sansa shot her cousin an angry glare, making Ahrella wonder just exactly what she had done this time. Her younger cousin was always upset about one thing or another.

"The purple looks better on you," Petyr whispered noting the cousins were wearing the same shade, before turning to Sansa. "Lovers quarrel?" He asked, always having to poke the bear, looking between her and Joffrey. 

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Sansa asked, arching a brow. She had makeup on today, painted in an attempt to make her look older. Or, at least, as old as her cousin. 

"My name is Petyr Baelish," he introduced, helping Ahrella to a seat beside her cousin, before sitting down himself, snuggly next to the Karstark girl. "I'm an old friend of the family."

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya burst out, studying the old man, eager for a good story.

"Arya!" Sansa hushed her. "Dont. Be. Rude." Ahrella couldn't help but roll her eyes. At least she didn't have an elder sister always shushing her like that. It would drive her up the wall. 

"No no, it's quite alright," Petyr smiled, launching into the story of his childhood and his homeland. He smiled over at Ahrella, winking. "It's an incredibly original nickname." 

And then the joust began. There was absolutely no way it could possibly end well. Ahrella found herself clenching her fists in anticipation. One man, The Mountain, as he was called, would no doubt destroy the tiny knight he was against. 

As the two raced by, wood struck flesh, and the smaller one was thrown from his horse, a large, sharp splinter protruding through his neck. Silence fell upon the crowd. Sansa looked away, gasping. But Ahrella, she couldn't help but stare, stare at the way the blood trickled from his neck. 

"Not what you expected?" Petyr whispered in her ear, causing goosebumps to ripple down her spine. She shook her head, watching as they dragged him off. The rest of the joust flew by, the image of the man not leaving her mind. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the joust, Sansa and Ahrella made their way back to the castle, Sansa allowing for her elder cousin to lean upon her, helping her along. "So how exactly did you injure yourself this time?" Sansa asked her flatly, as they made a quick stop on a granite bench, allowing the raven haired lady to rest her foot. 

"I slipped on the stairs. I was taking them much too fast, unfortunately," Ahrella said, her soft, pale cheeks flaming red. "Nearly tumbled down the whole thing, if....I hadn't caught myself." 

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked away. "You've ruined everything, you know," the redhead muttered, standing up and clenching her small fists. 

"By falling down the stairs?" Ahrella laughed, "I highly doubt--"

"No, not by falling down the bloody stairs," Sansa lashed out, cursing, "By all your bloody flirting with Joffrey. He has no interest in me now, and it's all your fault."

"Flirting?" Ahrella sputtered, "I'd hardly count my words as 'flirting' in any sense of the term. If anything I'm more of an ass to him than most people he knows." But her mind immediately fell back to that kiss. That damn kiss. If she had only pushed him away. Said no, that she could not, perhaps this conversation wouldn't even be happening as it was. 

"Well he doesn't seem to think so," Sansa insisted. "I hear him telling her majesty, earlier today, before the joust. 'Can I just marry the elder one instead?' he asked. 'She's much more grown, more womanly, and she actually likes me,'"

"Well he's certainly incorrect on that end of things." She muttered. "I had nothing to do with his decisions. He is his own man." 

"I don't believe you for a second," Sansa said. "You can rot out here, for all I care," she shouted, tears streaming down her face and she turned and ran off, leaving Ahrella sitting on the bench, mouth hanging open. 

"You're such a child!" Ahrella shouted after the rapidly disappearing sight of her red haired relative. 

She attempted to stand, wincing in pain at her ankle, sitting back onto the bench with a cry. She could attempt to hop her way back to the castle, but what a shame that would be. The frustration hit her like a wall of bricks. She was out here, alone, until someone else was to find her. As if the world only wanted to make matters even worse, the sky opened up at the moment, small drops starting to fall from the sky, turning to fatter ones. Her purple dress soon clung to her slick skin, outlining her every curve, and her black hair pasting itself to her scalp. Unsure of what else to do, with no one around to watch her, Ahrella placed her head in her hands and wept.


	4. Chapter 4

The rain had kept on, and Ahrella sat, head propped up in her hands, waiting for someone to ride on by and perhaps offer her a hand. Where was a knight in shining armor when she needed one? At this point, she would even take the prince coming to her rescue. Anything to get her in from this cold. She was sure already that she had a fever, or some sort of sickness. She had been sitting out here, clothes soaked through, for at least an hour. If she were to stand, surly her soft, velvet underwear would be seen right through her soaked skirts, not to mention her upper half, which had grown quite cold. It would be an embarrassing sight no matter who was to ride upon her. 

"Please just let someone come," she muttered to herself, and then after thinking for a moment, she added. "And let them be a good person with good intentions." 

Almost as if an answer to her prayers, she heard hoofbeats approaching and the sound of carriage wheels. Her eyes widened and she looked up, hope filling her eyes. She stood up, resting her injured ankle atop the bench so that she could have her best balance. "Hello!" She called out, waving both her arms above her head. "Stop, please, I'm in need of assistance!" To her surprise, the carriage actually rolled to a halt. She leaned back, lightly resting her other leg on the ground, hands covering her chest in attempt to hide her soaked through skin. Who, of all people, could possibly out and about in this weather? Looking down at what a sight she was, she realized perhaps she did not what help if it were Joffrey after all. There was no idea what he would possibly do with her in a tiny carriage such as that. 

But when the figure opened the door, her eyes narrowed as she saw his salt and pepper hair, that finely trimmed mustache, those...surprisingly soft eyes. Petyr Baelish. 

When he laid eyes upon her, it was as if he were seeing someone for the very first time. She stood there, dripping wet, nipples poking through her fine silk dress like towers, the purple dye in it dripping over the skin of her arms and pooling on the ground around her, her black hair looking like a nightmare come to life, and this look of defiance sparking in her eyes. She looked like some tree nymph, some goddess of wrath, something otherwordly. Something delicate. Something, almost, scared. 

"What are you doing out here?" She asked, jutting her chin forward and fighting back a sneeze. 

He chuckled lightly, causing a spark of anger inside of her chest. "I could ask you the same thing, Ahrella." 

"Excuse you, sir, I am a Lady, and you shall address me as such" Ahrella said, narrowing her grey eyes. 

"Yes, Lady Karstark, my sincerest apologies," he said softly, drawing his eyes over her form one more time. "Now, why don't I help you in, we can get you dry. You can tell me exactly what's going on. I'll get you a change of clothing." She was acutely aware of how his eyes dragged up her hips.

"I'm going to need your assistance for that," she said, nodding down to her red, swollen ankle. It was made only more obvious by how pale her bare flesh was when she was this cold. 

"Of course, of course," Petyr said, stepping out into the rain. One of his footmen attempted to get down and assist but Petyr waved him off. In one swift motion, he delicately swooped up Ahrella in his arms, placing her gently inside the carriage. After they were safely inside, the carriage continued rolling. 

"Where are we going?" Ahrella asked, shivering, as he wrapped a small shall around her shoulders. 

"Just one of my many establishments which I own," Petyr said with a small nod, patting her shoulder gently and leaning back in his chair. "Now, I hasten to think it may not be the type of establishment a lady of your rank usually finds herself in. But, in these circumstances, I would rather get you somewhere warm and dry where others won't see you, lest it lead to some talking."

"An establishment?" Ahrella raised an eyebrow. "And by that, are you implying you're taking me to one of your famed whore houses?" She couldn't even imagine what her family would think, her, alone, with a man of non-noble birth no less, soaked to her skin, heading to a whore house. 

"I assure you, there will be a room ready where no one shall see you, much less speak to you. I will get you a change of clothing. We'll get your foot looked at. And then, when you're warm and dry, we'll get you back to the palace where you belong," Petyr explained. 

Ahrella sighed, sneezing quickly into her arm, exposing her pointed nipples to the man across from her once more. He stared at them for a moment, before shaking his head and looking away. He shouldn't be looking at her that way, he knew it. But there was something so drawing about the Lady. Everyone in the palace knew it. Especially the prince, which made this situation even more dangerous. Which, in turn, made Petyr even more intrigued. He licked his bottom lip subconsciously. Lady Ahrella, though, did not notice.

"Well, as long as we can be discrete," Ahrella said, truthfully thankful to be rescued from the rain. She leaned over, gently placing her hand atop his and squeezing softly. "In all sincerity, Petyr, thank you, very much. I did not know how I might get safely out of there in such a state." When she placed her hand upon his, it was almost as if a small buzz went through her whole body. She looked up, meeting his eyes. He was staring at her with such an intensity, she thought her heart might start beating out of her chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Ahrella looked out the window of the carriage, entirely unsure if she should actually grasp the hand of the man standing outside the door and follow him into such...such...such an unladylike establishment. One that he owned, no less. There were people milling about, even in the steady rain, walking through the mud in the streets as if they had not a care in the world, and she was deathly afraid that she might be noticed. What would her family think, if they knew of where she was? If they knew of what a state of dress she was in right now? Nothing good, that was for sure. It would tarnish the Karstark name.

"This really is not the type of place I should be seen, Lord Baelish," Ahrella whispered out the door towards the man still standing in front of her, who, from the look on his face was growing impatient that she had not taken his hand already and stepped out. She hid back still, in the shadows of the carriage, her eyes darting about as if she may be found out at a moments notice. 

Lord Baelish let out a sigh, before looking back and forth down the streets, sticking his head into the light rain to do so. "The path is clear if you come now, Lady Ahrella. Trust me, I'm only trying to keep you safe. We need to get you changed, warmed up, before you catch a sickness that will keep you bedridden for days." Ahrella didn't point out that she was already feeling ill, her head hot but the rest of her flesh covered in goosebumps. This didn't seem like the right time.

There was something in the way he spoke, a sense of sincerity that she felt, that found her grabbing his hand and stepping out of the carriage, ducking into the entry way to avoid the rain and Petyr opened the door for the two of them. He squeezed her hand comfortingly once, before letting go to hold the large door for her.

The had entered through an employee entrance, Ahrella noted, finding themselves in a long hallway which lead in several directions. The place was dark, but she believed the walls to be painted a deep scarlet, and scented of roses and something spicy. To the left, she could smell what might be a kitchen, and to the right there were sounds she could only describe as...sensual, and they made her cheeks flare bright red, the blush spreading all the way to her tiny eartips. 

Petyr noticed her blush which painted her cheeks in the softest way, and smirked. "What, have you never heard the sounds of passion, my Lady?" 

Ahrella crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course not, I don't frequent myself to a whorehouse, and I'm not about to eavesdrop." 

"Oh, so I take it you've never made those sounds either?" Petyr asked, continuing to grin that catlike grin of his. 

"Of course not!" Ahrella said, now her eyes narrowing. "If you forget, my family has sent me here to find a husband of noble birth. One can't exactly do that without being a pure maiden and whatnot." She looked down the hall in the direction of the moans. "And I'm fairly certain from that sound that she, without any judgement, is not."

Petyr leaned in close in the darkness to whisper in her ear, brushing a strand of her wet hair back, his fingertips causing an electric buzz to shoot through her body. "Trust me, Lady Ahrella, you don't need to be fucking to make sounds like that."


	6. Chapter 6

Ahrella's knees felt weak as Petyr lead her down the hall, guiding her with his hand around her waist, fingers dancing on her hipbone. She felt like her entire body was on fire where he touched her, and it seemed almost as if she were being magnetically pulled towards him. 

He lead her to a small back room, inside of which was a curtained bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a large mirror. A small woman in barely there clothes stood, holding fabric in her hands. "Master Petyr, I've prepared the clothes as you requested," she said with a small bow of her head. 

"Thank you, Lilliana, it is, as always, appreciated," Petyr said with a mischievous smile, glancing at Ahrella out of the corner of his small eyes. There was a burning there, within his dark orbs, and it made Ahrella rather unsettled. "Now, I'm sure Lady Ahrella would love your assistance in getting her dressed, if you don't mind helping." 

"Oh course not, Lord Baelish," the woman, Lilliana, replied, brushing a ringlet of her golden curls behind her small ear, stepping forward but keeping her head bowed. Ahrella was certain she was perfectly capable of getting herself dressed, but Petyr seemed intent on having the task done for her. As the woman moved, small trinkets tied to her skimpy dress clinked together in an almost musical fashion, and Lady Ahrella could see why men might find this so intoxicating. The woman was simply walking, not even dancing, or attempting to woo her in any fashion, and yet, she was graceful and beautiful and musical all at the same time. _What a dangerous place,_ she thought to herself, biting her lower lip. 

Lilliana brushed the entirety of Ahrella's long, midnight black hair, still mostly wet, over her shoulder so that she could access the corset at the back of her lilac dress. The dress, certainly, was finer than anything Liliana had ever worn or had her hands on, and here this woman was, wearing it almost to ruins, out in the bloody rain. The whorehouse worker couldn't help but roll her eyes when they weren't in view of her boss's line of sight. With her nimble fingers, she quickly began to undo the ribbon of the tight corset.

As her dress began to be undone, Ahrella glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing at Lord Baelish. "What, sir, do you think you're doing?" She asked him sharply. The man had taken seat in a chair beside the door they had just entered, and had his forefinger resting on his lips, studying her movements inquisitively. 

"Oh," he said, with a smirk, "I hope you don't mind, Lady Ahrella. I am only trying to make sure you are taken care of with the utmost attention that you deserve." He looked at her with a steady gaze, challenging her, waiting to see what her next move was, almost as if this conversation, this entire afternoon, was one big game of chess. 

Ahrella stared him down, not blinking, forcing the heat away from her cheeks when she spoke. "Of course not, Lord Baelish, carry on." She turned back to face the wall in front of her, as Lilliana moved her fingers further and further down the corset, pulling the silver ribbon all the way out. From his seat, Petyr could see the dimples in Lady Karstarks lower back, and each one of her vertebrae. His hands itched to run his fingers up her spine, but he stayed put, thankful she had turned away, for a heat of his own flushed his cheeks for a moment.

What was this woman, this trickster who could make Littlefinger himself blush? Unheard of. For a moment, he wondered if it had something to do with her relation to his childhood love, now head of the Stark household, Catelyn. But no, that couldn't be. The more he looked at her, the more it was apparent that her beauty was something of it's own. She looked nothing like her aunt, as they were only related by marriage, not blood. She looked like a wild thing, some beauty only nature could truly understand. Watching the way the light hit her skin, he could understand why there were always rumours floating about that Lady Ahrella was called the Sun of the North. Bringing light to such a gloomy place, he could not imagine any other title for her. 

Ahrella's soaking wet dress fell to the floor, pooling around her ankles like a purple puddle, leaving the girl in nothing but her wet underskirt and her velvet panties. She could feel the heat of Petyr's gaze tracing her body, but she would not flinch, would not move. She would stare into the eye of the fire and not be wavering. She would not let this man intimidate her. Carefully, the woman helping her undid the tie of her underskirt, leaving her in nothing but her underwear, and Ahrella was thankful for the heat emanating from the fireplace nearby. Still, her entire body was fraught with chills. 

For a moment, Lilliana felt bad for the girl, the poor little thing with such pale white flesh, shivering uncontrollably. "Lift up your feet one at a time, sweetheart," Lilliana whispered gently.

"I..I can't," Ahrella mumbled back. "My ankle, I sprained it," she nodded down to the red, swollen thing. Of course, how had Lilliana not seen it before.

"Alright darling, here, rest yourself on my shoulder and we will figure it out, won't we?" Lilliana said to her, attempting to put a comforting smile on her face. This wouldn't be an easy feat, that was for sure. 

Suddenly, a hot breath tickled at Ahrella's ear. "Lady Ahrella," Petyr whispered to her. "Here, let me help you." Before she could protest, or even say a simple 'no,' Petyr had scooped her up in his arms, as he had done to get her in the carriage, and she was acutely aware of how close his left hand was to the underside of her bare breast. Lilliana quickly bent down, picking up the wet pile of dress and moving it out of the way. As gently as he could, Petyr returned her to standing, but Ahrella was so stunned to silence she wouldn't have noticed if there had been any pain at all. 

Carefully, Lilliana and Petyr helped Ahrella into the skirt of the dress Petyr had prepared for her. It was grey, with curling black accents of velvet that matched her hair, and looked much like tendrils of smoke. Once her arms were in the warm, long sleeves, Petyr looked to Lilliana. "I can take it here," he addressed her. "You are dismissed. And remember what you were told." 

"Yes sir," Lilliana said with a quick nod. She remembered very well what the note had said. _Burn the dresses, do not speak a word of this. If any noise gets out, your head will be the punishments_. The blonde girl shivered, grabbing the wet dresses and quickly leaving the room, shutting the door tightly behind it. 

"Now, let's finish this and get you to bed," Petyr whispered in her ear, sending an electricity through her body the like of which Ahrella had never felt before. She could feel Petyr's hands make slow, steady work of the buttons which ran up the entirety of the back of her new, blessingly warm, dress. When his fingertips brushed the mid of her back, a shiver raced through her body.

"Tell me, Lady Ahrella," Petyr whispered in her ear, lips brushing her earlobe ever so slightly, causing her cheeks to flush red. She had never felt this kind of heat before. "Is it the cold still causing you to shiver as you are?" 

"N-no," she whispered back, as his lips pressed ever so gently into her neck, kissing, this his teeth nipping at her flesh just ever so lightly. Involuntarily, she took a loud breath of shock. "Petyr, what are you doing?" she asked back, as she leaned backwards, into his chest.

"Is it too much, Lady Ahrella?" he asked, doing another one of the buttons on her dress, though he truly wished to be doing the reverse and pulling the dress off her. Her wanted to see her smooth, pale skin again. 

Ahrella's mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. What was she doing here, in the arms of this man? Alone in some whorehouse, where no one knew she was? And yet, she felt safe. She felt as if she were on fire, and as if his touch was the only thing that could cool her down. For the first time in her life, Ahrella allowed herself to feel _want_ , to feeling longing, desire. And desire was the hot snake which wound itself around her now. 

She turned around to face him, looking into his dark eyes and finding a heat that matched the warmth she felt coursing through her body. "Not too much at all, Lord Baelish," she said back smoothly, attempting to sound cool, to sound as if she had the slightest idea of what she was about to do. And of course, she wasn't about to give up her maidenhood to this man, this man who infuriated her in such a way, this man that made her shake with both anger and desire in such a close time span. But a little fun, a little relief from all this weight she felt upon her, a little romance...who could that hurt?

Of course, it could hurt a lot of people, people she cared deeply for, but she wasn't thinking of that at this time. She wasn't thinking of anything except the shape of Petyr Baelish's gentle lips and how they would fit so nicely upon her own. And she really should have been thinking about all the trouble she would cause, about all that was coming. 

Instead, she dragged her gaze from his perfect lips to look him in the eyes. "I think you deserve a proper thank you, for being my night in shining armour," she murmured, placing a hand on his waist to balance herself, as she reached back and slowly undid the buttons his had worked so hard on, bravely letting her dress fall back to the ground. "Don't you?" she asked coyly. Where were these words coming from? Ahrella wasn't certain she had ever known herself to speak this way, to think this way. Something about this man had bewitched her, changed her, but there was no turning back now. 

Petyr's gaze dropped to look at her supple breasts as her dress fell to the floor, he couldn't help it. They weren't so overly large that they sagged and were unappealing, no, they were perfect. The right proportion to her body, the perfect size that he could so easily fill his hand with one. He looked back up to meet her eyes, finding her biting her lower lip just so slightly. Her hand spread electricity through his body when she placed it on his waist. "My Lady, I think you are right," he said tipping her chin upwards.

Unable to take the wait any longer, Ahrella pressed her lips hungrily against his, wrapping her arms around his neck instinctually, pressing her breasts into his chest. His lips were as eager as her own, pressing against hers, biting at her lower lip, begging her to open her mouth for him. She did, letting his tongue collide with hers, their kiss filled with passion, a hurried feast as if their time was too short and they had both wanted this for too long. Perhaps they had. Petyr reached down, finally getting one of her breasts into his hand, letting out a groan as his thumb brushed over her achingly hard nipple, no longer caused by the cold, but now from her lust for him. 

Carefully, Petyr then picked her up, carrying her gently over to the large bed, pushing aside the show pillows to rest her head gently on a soft pillow, her hair spilling out around her like water. Gods, she was beautiful. His lips found hers again as she quickly unbuttoned the front of her shirt, pulling it over his head so that she could race her hands along his firm chest. She felt an ache from between her legs like nothing she had experienced before. She wanted him, all of him, though she knew she could not have what she wanted. She would have to settle, today at least. 

Petyr moved his kisses down her neck, kissing, licking, biting, careful not to leave a mark on her flawless skin as badly as he wanted to. He wanted to leave a bruise so fierce upon her tender neck that everyone would know she was his and his alone. There was danger here, and Petyr knew it, but part of the longing was fed off this danger. Still, he knew he couldn't go much further with this. 

"Lady Ahrella," he said softly, placing another kiss on her tender lips. "As much enjoyment as this has been, and trust me, it has, you've got a fever. We need to get you some hot tea and get you under these covers." 

A pout slipped across her lips, but she knew he was right. Her head was feeling as heavy as a horse and as desperately as she wanted him to keep kissing her, keep exploring her body with his touch, she knew she needed rest, and food, and something to drink. Carefully, she sat back up. Petyr helped her to stand, still stealing forbidden kisses as he did so, keeping her heart beating rapidly in her chest, and he slid the dress back onto her body, finishing the buttons to completion this time around. 

"Here," he said softly, tucking her under the mountain of covers. "There, now we'll get you warmed up. I'll have some hot tea made, my Lady." 

"Thank you, Lord Baelish," she said with a small smile, growing ever more tired. "My knight in shining armor," she said softly, before she fell into a heated sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Ahrella woke to her Uncle Ned barging into the room, shouting for the entire world to hear. "How dare you, how **dare you** bring my niece to such a dirty fucking establishment? She's not some street girl you can bring to your whorehouse, Lord Baelish. She's a damn Karstark. What if she was seen, you bloody idiot?" 

Ahrella's eyes fluttered open and focused on her Uncle. She was still rather sleepy, but feeling much better than she had been previously. She was wrapped tightly under heavy covers, and a steaming cup of tea was on the bedside table beside her. Where exactly was she again? She couldn't quite remember for a moment. Then, as the pain in her ankle swelled, it all came flooding back. Her cousin leaving her out in the cold, unable to safely walk back to the palace alone. She looked down at herself, catching sight of the grey dress that Peytr had helped her into earlier...that day? Was it still that day? She wasn't entirely sure. All she was sure of was the pain in her ankle and the heat emanating from her skin. She was clearly still sick. 

She coughed, pushing herself up in the tightly tucked sheets so she was propped up, looking over at the two arguing men, rolling her eyes. Of course they would be arguing, in that way men always do. Bickering, trying to over compensate for...something. She coughed again, then spoke, her voice breaking as she did so. "Uncle Ned, I'm right here, I'm completely fine. Lord Baelish has only taken exceptional care of me and been very kind in my very compromising position." 

Her uncle strode over to her side, brushing her black hair away from her face lovingly. "My dear, it's _why_ you were in this position to begin with that I would like to know the answer to." He looked down at her with pure concern in his eyes, as if she were a daughter of his own. 

Ahrella shook her head sadly, almost looking at him with pity. "Your daughter never told you? It's by Sansa's hand that I've wound up in this place. She was so upset by the idea that the Prince's affection had fallen upon me that she left me out in the rain, unable to walk by myself on my sprained ankle. So if you have any anger, do not turn it on Lord Baelish. He saved me from your daughter's jealous spite." She glanced over at Petyr, giving him a shy smile. "I am quite lucky he drove by when he did. I may have still been out there now, slowing dying of sickness, if he had not." 

Ned frowned down at her, then looked over at Littlefinger, narrowing his eyes. He wasn't quite sure he could trust the man, even still. Yet, his niece was so earnest in her thanks towards him that it seemed true. Surely, she had no reason to lie. "Well, Ahrella, my sweet, I truly apologize for the actions of my daughter. We shall get you back to the palace, I'm sure Joffrey will want you cared for by only the best." Then he turned back towards Lord Baelish. "Petyr, I apologize for my rash attitude at this situation. While I am not entirely comfortable with the situation you have placed my niece in, I do appreciate you caring for her in the state she was in. Please, as an offer of my apology, come have dinner with my family and I this evening. As our guest." 

"You're to kind, Lord Stark," Petyr gave him a foxlike grin. "I would be most honoured to dine with you and Lady Stark this evening. But on one condition. Lady Ahrella must be fit enough to dine with us. I would not let her miss out on such an event." He glanced over at the raven haired lady, giving her a subtle wink, causing her already warm cheeks to tint scarlet. 

"Ahrella," Ned said, looking down at her again, rubbing a thumb across her cheek. "Is this fine with you?" 

Lady Ahrella shrugged. "I suppose so. What time is it?"

"It's early morning still." Ned replied. "You've been here since last afternoon, after the joust. The entire palace was worried for your safety." 

Ahrella blinked once, twice. There was no way it had been that long, had it? She must have really fallen asleep, her body using the rest to try and recuperate. "Then there shall be plenty of time to rest before we eat this evening," Ahrella confirmed with a small nod. 

"Let's get you home then," Ned said gently, helping her out of the bed. The heavy fabric of the grey dress swirled down around her legs, the smoke-like velvet black designs accenting her curves delicately, blending in with the waves of her hair. It had been a good choice, and Petyr took a quiet moment to admire it once more. 

As her Uncle Ned led her out of the whorehouse and carefully, quietly, into an awaiting carriage, Ahrella had to fight the urge to look back over her shoulder to see if Petyr was watching her go. She did not know which would be worse; if he was watching her go, or if he wasn't.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay accidentally hit post instead of preview

Please disregard I accidentally hit post and it wont let me delete :(


	9. Chapter 9

Ahrella did not remember the ride home, nor being ushered to the medical wing of the palace. She didn't remember being disrobed and wrapped in a white gown, nor tucked into bed. A rather nice bed at that, wrapped in heavy fur blankets. She did, however remember waking to the sound of voices and keeping her eyes loosely shut so she could listen in on what they were saying. She could hear the sound of Prince Joffrey speaking with a nurse and his mother.

"I don't _care_ what you're saying," She heard Joffrey hiss out in a whisper, "I want to wake her _now._ How else are we to make sure she's alright?" The demand and whine in his voice was one she was all too familiar with it. The sound of a future King demanding his wishes be met. She knew sooner or later, she would either feel his hands attempting to shake her awake, or that of the nurse. As lovely as she felt, all wrapped up in warm blankets and soft furs from her homeland, she didn't want to feel about anyone's hands forcefully laying upon her. There was no point in faking any longer. She was about to gracefully wake from slumber as if on command, when she heard the Queen speak.

"Darling, we wouldn't want her to become more unwell than she is now, would we?" Cersei asked her son. Ahrella could practically see her brushing her hand gently along his blonde crown of hair, soothing her eldest boy. Her eldest boy whom she didn't want marrying a Karstark over the real thing. Cersei's eyes had always been on Sansa. She was younger, more mold-able. Easier to bend to her will. Ahrella was the kind of woman Cersei could lose her son to, and the Queen Mother was well aware of it. She was well aware of how her son's eyes glazed over when he saw Ahrella dancing in the garden with her ladies maids, how he couldn't talk her eyes off her whenever she entered a room. Like he was hungry and she was a feast.

The twenty two year old could practically hear the pout on the eighteen year old boy's pretty face. The pout his mouth could rarely, if ever, resist. She could hear Cersei' long, low sigh and take a few steps away from Ahrella's bedside. She could hear her whispering something to the bednurse, but couldn't entirely make out the words. But she knew what was coming, so in effort to keep some of this decision to herself, Ahrella yawned, stretching her arms high above her head and brushing away a few stray strands of her beautifully charcoal hair from her face. Blinking a few times, she opened her large eyes and looked over to her right, where the voices were coming from. She forced a smile to her face when her eyes landed on Joffrey, fluttering her lashes ever so slightly, because, she did have appearances to keep up, after all. That, and she knew it would annoy Cersei to no end. 

As much as Ahrella was annoyed beyond no end at her cousin, she didn't like how impressionable the young redhead was. She didn't want Cersei sinking her clutches into Sansa just yet. And if that meant gaining the attention of her, so be it. Sacrifices had to be made, and Ahrella felt confident she could get herself out of the situation with Joffrey if need be. If anything, she could always.....well. There weren't a ton of options if he truly did want her around. She could flee. That was about it. And she didn't like thinking about what would happen if she ever tried to run from Joffrey Baratheon. 

For a moment, her mind flitted back to Petyr. Would he run with her? If she ever needed to flee? She liked to think he would run with her, if she needed to go. He had sources everywhere. He was so well known for it. She liked to think that moment they had shared....that it had meant something. Her heart beat sped up just thinking about being close to him. He seemed to...understand her? Possibly. Challenge her, definitely. But did he actually enjoy her presence, or was she just another one of his many games the man seemed to always be playing? She didn't like to think of that as a possibility. She didn't like to say it would break her heart, for she certainly didn't love him. But she would be very upset if that ended up being the truth.

"Ah look, my princess has awoken," Joffrey said, rubbing his hands together, clearly incredibly pleased she was awake. "See, everyone, Lady Ahrella was charmed awake simply by the sound of my voice. Weren't you, princess?" He knelt near her bed, grasping one of her hands in his own, pressing his lips to the back of it gently. Ahrella could practically see Cersei age ten years by this small gesture. 

"Thank you, my Lord," she replied, blushing, pushing herself up in the bed, removing her hand from his as she did so. "I'm so sorry I was in such a deep sleep. I was rather ill. I am feeling much better though, now," She fluttered her eyes at him, "You must have a healing presence about you, my Lord." She could practically see the adams apple, hidden by the high neck of his red button up, bob deeply up and down his throat as he swallowed hard, a grin spreading across his cheeks. The way he looked at her made her nervous, as if he was about to pounce on her, if the others weren't in the room with them. There was a heat in his eyes that tore into her, undressing her with nothing but a simple gaze. A gaze of heat and of someone who was ready to take what he thought was his. Something about that gaze, even if it was coming from someone she didn't particularly fancy, made a heat race through her body. Now that she had experienced the touch of desire, it was impossible for her to get the idea of someone's touch out of her mind. And what with the future king giving her bedroom eyes, it wasn't hard to imagine what he would do to her.

"Of course, Lady Ahrella, I am in your service," He gave a mock bow, grinning up at his mother. "Are you well enough to stand? he asked, holding out a hand for her. "I would love your company on a walk through the garden." 

Ahrella smiled, looking down at her white medical gown. "I'm not sure I'm properly dressed for a stroll, my Lord. At least, not for a stroll in the presence of someone so importance as you." She frowned sheepishly, playing off as coy and shy. Did she _really_ want to go for a walk in the garden? A quite place all alone where his hands could be in her dress within moments of entering through the gates? Her thighs squeezed together at the thought. But when she pictured it, the stroll through the garden with an older man, elder to her...she pictured spending her time with Petyr. 

Petyr, who was going to be having dinner with her tonight. How on earth was she going to survive her time in the South?


End file.
